


Liberate

by startwithsparks



Series: MMOM 2013 [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mirrors, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson indulges some of Dr Whale's more interesting proclivities and finds them quite enjoyable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberate

The ropes bit slightly into his skin, just tight enough around his limbs to chafe as he struggled to move within his bonds. He wasn't trying to break free of his confines, but there was some vain desire to see just how far he would be able to stretch them. There wasn't much give to the ropes that wound tightly around his body, just enough to allow him to flex his muscles and find the most comfortable position within the limits of his keeping. The rope was soft enough that it didn't cut into him, but it dug into flesh and muscle, more than just restricting his movements but restricting his desire to struggle against it as well.

He'd never really seen the appeal of intricate ropework before he found himself in such a position, but watching Victor's deft fingers braid the rope into elaborate knots was one of the most riveting things he'd ever watched. Jefferson knew his way around painstaking handiwork too. He might not have been a doctor, he'd certainly never brought someone back to life, but he'd been the Queen of Hearts' royal hatter for long enough to know his way around detailed work, where every stitch was placed with the utmost care and attention. His hands had built works of incredible beauty and art, while Victor's hands had ushered miracles into worlds without magic to account for those things. To have those hands making art with his body elevated Jefferson to a level that a former portal-jumper could have never hoped to reach. Even before Storybrooke, he'd wondered what those hands could do.

Some stroke of genius must have fallen upon the doctor, who led Jefferson through room after room in an attempt to find the perfect backdrop for his art. They finally ended up in the room where Jefferson stored his hats, endless shelves backed with mirrors, standing mirrors, mirrors hanging askew from walls and shelves. Victor smirked when he saw it, lips curling into a tight, devious expression. He shut the door softly and directed Jefferson to start clearing a spot in the middle of the room. Victor was good enough to let him move everything, understanding how particular a man could be with his collections. Once Jefferson had cleared the space of the innumerable failed projects and attempts to recreate something exceptional, Victor began his work.

In no time, he was lost in watching Victor weave the pale rope around his limbs. The blanched cords, stark in contrast to his vaguely olive skin, were more striking than anything else he'd seen in this world. When the doctor moved behind him, he craned his head to watch him work in the reflection behind them. Victor shifted easily to the side to let him watch, shielding his expression so the only thing Jefferson could see were his hands working tirelessly, crisscrossing rope across his back, binding his arms snug behind him, twisting around his torso and descending ever lower.

When the doctor approached him with this offer, it was painted as a chance for escape, release, even if it was only for a fleeting few moments. Victor told him that he didn't need a magic hat to be freed from his own distress and fear. He could never have imagined that his liberation could be found in bondage, but the more Victor restricted his body, the more his mind was free to wander away from this fragile, broken prison that kept it locked down. With Victor taking control of him physically, the only thing that was left was his mind, and soon he found himself settling within his restraints, the tension uncoiling from his limbs and the fear of pain and immobility bleeding steadily out of his body.

Victor gently grasped him by the arm and eased Jefferson down to his knees on the floor, standing in front of him for a moment to nudge his legs wide apart. It was difficult to keep himself upright and, as he'd only just started to settle himself, he found his muscles straining to keep his body in this position. Victor took the long tails of the rope and carefully worked them around his thighs and ankles. The few minutes of discomfort were worth it once Victor gripped one of the rope knotted down his back and hauled him down to the floor - first on his side, but swiftly rolling him onto his back. He stepped away and admired his work. Jefferson was bound from shoulder to ankle, arms behind his back at right angles, wrists tied together near the middle of his back, legs bent at sharp angles away from his hips, and his ankles strapped to thighs. He was completely exposed, and if he tried to press his legs together in a fit of modesty, the ropes dug hard into his thighs and pulled on his arms painfully where they were attached to the same line.

It was all part of Victor's design, obviously. Jefferson was completely at his whim and the coil of apprehension that had started to wind in his gut seemed to work its way deeper and morph into something else entirely when Victor dropped to his knees between Jefferson's legs. He watched, attention rapt, as Victor's hands slipped delicately across his thighs, dancing along the ropes that held him in place, until they came to rest on the sensitive flesh at the juncture.

He teased, of course, his fingers ghosting over his flesh and nails dragging into the skin of his thighs. Jefferson shivered and squirmed beneath him, unsure if he was trying to pull away from the touch or press himself closer to it. Little at a time, Victor gave him more contact, until his hand wrapped slowly around Jefferson's dick and started to stroke. But even in this Jefferson couldn't find his release. Victor kept him precariously close to the edge, stroking him until he was practically writhing on the floor only to pull his hands away to soothe along his chest and thighs until the trembling and heavy breathing calmed down. Then again, Victor's warm hand wrapped around him, working him right up to the edge.

By the third or fourth time, Jefferson was on the verge of begging, but he tried to relax, even though his body was entirely on edge. His breath shuddered out of him as he exhaled, trying to mentally force the tension through his limbs, where it pooled deep inside of him, but as soon as Victor touched him again, his nerves were alight and he was biting back a groan. He didn't know if he should try to hold back or if he should give in to this, and Victor gave him no direction one way or another. Maybe it was because he was leaving that decision ultimately up to Jefferson, but every time he felt himself tumble back from that edge, he felt the urgency to beg to twist tighter.

Victor had established a rhythm, even if Jefferson didn't have the clarity of mind to discern it, and no matter the way he writhed or the words that tumbled softly from his lips, he was relentless. Jefferson only vaguely realized the intent behind it, the control that he really had here, but it was too good to stop. He knew his body would betray him eventually - and it did - but until that happened he wanted to hold onto this for as long as possible, knowing that Victor's hands were always going to be there in his own time, in his own way, and all Jefferson could do was use it to his best advantage. His circumstances were fixed, but the way Jefferson reacted to them when he chose to let loose, was all in his control. When he came, it was with a tremor and faint grunt, and Victor wasn't even touching him. His hands had fallen to Jefferson's ankles, holding him firmly in place while his hips jerked and he spilled across the white rope and tan skin.

He didn't know how long he laid there afterward, only that his bonds were loosened and Victor was sitting patiently against one of the shelves, coiling rope between his hand and elbow to tie off and tuck away in his bag. Jefferson swiped a hand across his stomach, his skin clean, and furrowed his brows for a moment until he saw the handkerchief wadded up by Victor's side. His limbs were loose and his body exhausted, but he managed to roll onto his side on the floor, staring at his reflection in the mirror by the doctor's side. As disheveled as he was, that glint of madness in his gaze was nowhere to be found. He was strung too thin to find it now, every muscle too exhausted to care about anything but this feeling buzzing through him.


End file.
